


The Voice

by FluffyFyuu



Series: musings of dreams / songfic collection [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fire, Jongdae is some kind of ancient being, Other, Songfic, a burning village
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyFyuu/pseuds/FluffyFyuu
Summary: I hear your voice on the windAnd I hear you call out my name
Series: musings of dreams / songfic collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642378
Kudos: 2





	The Voice

* * *

I hear your voice on the wind

And I hear you call out my name

...

I am the voice of the past that will always be

I am the voice of your hunger and pain

I am the voice of the future

I am the voice

_The Voice by Celtic Woman_

* * *

The village is in flames.

Red heat covers everything in a flickering bright light, hiding nothing of its destructive force and creating a stark contrast to the dark night sky above. Its darkness absorbs all light, a heavy weight failing to blanket the fire swallowing the village. Smoke is clouding the sight of stars, a grey haze dyes the horizon a dull and hopeless colour.

There’s the crackle of fire, the painful cry of belongings burning to death and memories dissolving into the raspy air. People are shouting, their voices laced with fear and fighting to be heard against the noise drowning out everything else. They are calling for their beloved, lost from their sight in the chaos of bodies running from the fire. They are calling for help.

Calling for  _ him _ .

And he can hear them, their pleads to have mercy on them. Their voices reach his ancient heart, reawakening piercing memories of past days filled with suffering and pain. Echoes of fields drenched in blood taste acid on his tongue, he remembers how the war brought nothing but destruction and death. He remembers days of hunger, of their calls to him - pleading for food, anything. How he sang to the earth to help the plants grow, hoping for enough to keep his people alive.

_ Alive _ .

So he answers their desperate calls with his own voice, raising a powerful melody into the air and singing to soothe their fear like he has always been doing. He reminds them that their pleads are heard and they are not alone - that he receives their calls of his name. That no matter what happens, he is at their side. He  _ remains _ .

The wind carries his melody above the roar of fire, over the angry flames devouring everything in its reach. His people are running, clutching stray belongings to their chests to escape the flashes of burning light reaching for their clothes. Children cry, tender skin glinting with tears and the sight of his people hurting has an ache grow within him. 

His song turns urgent, spurred by the pity rising in his being at the knowledge of them suffering, of people getting lost in the chaos and precious belongings burning away to ashes. He sings to aid them in their flight, to try and keep them safe. He sings to the sky, calling for clouds to gather and let rain fall upon them. With his gaze pointed upwards, his voice reaches far and when there’s a rumble in the distance, faint beneath the roar of fire - he smiles.

Soon, the darkness of the sky gets blurred by clouds, deep shapes moving above and then he can feel the first drops of rain on his skin. Others follow, growing into a steady rainfall. It drowns the crackle of fire, filling the air with a heavy weight. Burned debris hisses under the rapid drops of water falling onto their heated surface, onto their ashen wounds.

The rain is soothing, cold on his own warm skin and his smile stays on his upturned lips. He can see his people breathing a relieved sigh, their faces turned to look at the dark night sky and savour the raindrops from above.

After minutes filled with his voice weaving through the murmur of rainfall, the grey haze of smoke fades away and when nothing but fallen silhouettes and the heavy feeling in their hearts are left, sunshine fights to break through the clouds. His song turns gentle, thankful and he helps the sun to let her rays push through. The rain simmers down to a drizzle, until the painful remains of the village glimmer in the faint sunshine and only a few drops cling to the trembling skin of his people.

Then - light dissolves the grey rain clouds completely and tints everything in a rose colour. The air is heavy with memories, tears and sunshine. No more smoke blurs the sight any longer, gentle rays of blushed light caress and soothe the jagged edges of burned debris. He can feel his people cry in relief and grief, some turning around to keep searching for their beloved - now that the sun aids their search. He sees children wipe their tears, lovers reassuring each other with kisses and his smile turns tender.

Morning graces his people with life and a new chance, filling his ancient heart with faith. So he keeps singing - to share his strength, to remind them of how history repeats itself, how they escaped other dire situations before and recovered with time’s help. That their wounds will heal and their future’s filled with hope, that they are not alone.

Because he is the voice, protecting the fragile spark of life. Protecting memories of the past and promising bright days in the future. He is  _ Chen _ , the voice of his people and their souls. He is at their side, he hears their call for his name and Chen will always raise his voice in answer - sending his song along the wind to protect his people.

* * *


End file.
